The Beautiful Game
by sara-cupcaked
Summary: Who really knows Gil Grissom best?


**A/N:** This story is set anytime during Season Seven, and thank you to my beta GER who improved on the plot. :) Please R&R, it would be nice to see where I hit the mark, and where I missed. I do not own anything in this story.

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**The Beautiful Game**

The cool blue light that radiated throughout the lab was ideally supposed to give off a calming mood, but it evidently did not work on certain people.

"I swear, if he was right here right now, no one would be able to find his body once I'm done. I will feed him to his tarantulas, no trace evidence will be found!" A furious Catherine Willows exclaimed while she strode into the once quiet room, her strained voice making Sara's head pound a little harder.

Realigning her body in the standard lab-issued black plastic chair, wondering if they were made deliberately to be uncomfortable, she looked up from the report and smiled forcefully.

"Well hello, Catherine."

Taking into account she didn't use the word 'bastard' and the fact she mentioned tarantulas, Sara decided that she, Catherine, was talking about Grissom and not Ecklie.

"What case did he put you on this time?" she asked loudly, storming into Sara's previously serene bubble of thought.

"Uh, I haven't really looked," she answered, shuffling the report to the side and picking up half a sheet with minimal words typed onto it. "419 at Venetian. Ooh, it's the first, has to be off the hook."

"He put me on decomp duty! No offence, but why do you always seem to be get the best cases?"

Sara was sure Catherine's spiking blood pressure could not handle the fact she and their boss were sleeping together, and wisely sealed her lips and shrugged.

"I, for one, need the publicity to at least have a shot at the day shift supervisory post, and he places me with a rotting body at Lake Mead instead of a high profile murder at a spotless strip casino? Just because I know him best doesn't give him the right to brush me aside – "

Sara, whose head was buried in the report, made a non-committal noise at the back of her throat, but didn't look up.

"What?" Catherine asked, annoyed she was interrupted midway through her Grissom-must-die speech. She looked possibly livid now, and Sara wanted to kick herself for interrupting the woman midway. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

"I am just surprised you think you know Grissom best," she answered as nonchalantly as possible, trying to concentrate on completing the preliminary report instead of Catherine's withering stare.

"Yes, I do pride myself on knowing Gil best." Catherine challenged, not backing down.

Sara finally looked up, an incredulous look splashed all over her face. "I, uh, beg to differ."

"Is that a challenge, Sara Sidle? Well, I am never one to back down from one, so the one who renders the other speechless wins. If I win, I get the Venetian case, and if – "

"- _If_ I win, you leave me alone? Deal."

Catherine's agitated behavior now morphed into something more demure, but if there was one thing Sara hated most about Catherine, it was her competitiveness.

Catherine grinned, her eyes lighting up like hot coals. "Grissom rides roller coasters in his free time to relax."

Sara had to bite her tongue in order not to blurt out _Yeah, I know_, _he even takes me sometimes, didn't you know?_ Instead, she nodded and answered, "I know, the Manhattan Express is his regular."

"Grissom enjoys baseball," Sara countered, a brief smile as she flashed back to that particular case.

Catherine's smile did not waver. "Warrick got him a baseball cap for his last birthday."

_Strike one._

"He had this thing for that anthropologist, Terri Miller. Remember her?" Catherine asked, settling down in the seat opposite Sara.

Suppressing that flare of jealously, she smiled graciously. "I remember. She married this teacher, so I guess there's nothing going on with them now."

"Yeah, but that Lady Heather?" Catherine whistled under her breath. "That woman really made Grissom sw-"

"Grissom proposed to a Nicole Daley with his grandmother's ring." Sara practically shouted over Catherine, voice a pitch higher than usual.

She stopped talking (_finally!_) and mused over Sara's point. "They were nine, right?"

"Yeah," Sara admitted, crestfallen.

_Strike two._

"Okay, I bet you don't know this one. Grissom cannot stand eating bananas."

Sara knew with a sinking feeling that she would never have a chance at acting as the blatant look of surprise revealed itself so prominently on her face, not even giving her mind time to mask the surprise. Bananas? Grissom? How did Catherine know that?

"Hah! Beat that, Sara!" Catherine said smugly, toying with the Venetian case paper tauntingly.

Shaking her head lightly to clear her head, Sara started. "Three strikes, and I'm out right? Well, here goes." She was playing her final card, and she knew the risks, but she really needed to finish the report. That and the fact her competitive nature was getting the best of her. Didn't Grissom always say 'work comes first'? Sure, he was going to be very annoyed, but winning over Grissom was a lot easier than shutting Catherine up.

"Did you know that Grissom's wearing those aquamarine boxers with brown stripes today? My favourite as the blue really brings out his eyes."

She could see Catherine smug smile melt off her face as her jaw literally hit the floor, all in slow motion. Satisfaction coursed through Sara's system, her brown eyes lighting up at Catherine's expression. Her eyes were so wide they looked like saucers, her mouth now a huge 'O'.

"I guess you didn't know that." Sara said breezily, taking back the slip and tucking it under her report in one fluid motion, her smile illuminating the room.

_And she scores!_


End file.
